The victim's triumph; a panorama of modern society

Front matter

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Preface

W givi/ng this book to the public a few words \ seem called for, in view of the apparent briefness, not to say abruptness with which some of its scenes and characters are brought to a close. In explanation I desire to say that the story is based upon facts. Truth is stranger than fiction, and my aim has been to present things as they often happen in life rather than attempt a work of art through the imagination. I have dealt with incidents and occurrences that have come under my observation, in as short, concise and realistic a manner as possible. Where facts are in plenty fiction seems superfluous. I have tried to avoid all excess of baggage and sharply draw the line where realism ceases and fiction begins.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

At the Club ....

IL

Chapter I At The Club

S T was a cold night in December. All day long New York had been in the throes of a fierce blizzard, which, having first wreaked havoc in Nebraska and other Western towns, had come East, as if to remind us of the frigid experience we had with one of its relatives in 1888.

The sun, after a brief smile upon the city, had hidden his face in disgust behind a leaden sky. Night came, and with it another fall in the temperature; causing those blessed with any sort of a home to cheerfully stick to it. It was too cold for more snow, and the little that had fallen the day before had frozen almost immediately, forming a hard, icy crust which made walking difficult, and caused a crunching sound ’neath foot or wheel. A full moon beamed brightly down upon the scene.

Alongside the curb on upper Fifth Avenue stood, sphinx-like, a solitary cab, probably awaiting some venturesome youth whose ardent spirit even this arctic night had been unable to congeal. The driver sat motionless, completely buried in the folds of a voluminous fur overcoat, from which protruded, chimney-like, his stovepipe hat.

The horse, poor beast, stood shivering in the cold, unprotected save by a thin blanket, which might just as well have been left off, for all the good it did. Its thoughts — for horses have thoughts — could have been in nowise eulogistic of the human family. The dejected look in the animal’s eyes, the relaxed lower jaw, and ill-fed, ungroomed appearance in general, bore mute evidence of a life of ceaseless labor, hardship and suffering, endured solely to fill the pockets of a heartless master; for, though we may not realize it, the inner life, the hopes and fears of our dumb friends, are readily seen in their actions, appearance and behavior. Thus the poor animal, as it stood shivering in the cold, plainly expressed utter resigna^ tion to an inevitable fate: viz., a few years more of hardship, old age, or, perhaps, a broken limb at the hands of some careless motorman; a morbid crowd, a policeman’s bullet, and then — oblivion.

In sharp contrast with this dismal scene, the upper windows in one of the exclusive bachelor clubs near by sent forth a flood of light, which reflected in a thousand multicolored sparks upon the snow-covered street below, showing that sleep was still a stranger to these devotees of single blessedness ; who, perhaps, had been unable to tear themselves away from the fascinations of the fragrant Havana, the wine, or the game.

In the sumptuous smoking-room within, three men in evening dress were gaily chatting near a huge fireplace of artistic design, wherein a bright fire was burning. They had evidently spent the earlier part of the night at the play, from whence they had sojourned uptown to the club, to smoke, drink and talk. They were chums, and had known each other for a number of years.

Lord Brighton, the elder of the three, was a man of about forty-five, but looked somewhat younger. In appearance and manners he was a typical Englishman, with a ruddy complexion, large, regular features, and of heavy build. He was a man who might have passed unnoticed but for the color of his hair, which was of that indescribable hue sometimes seen on actresses who use Peroxide ” one season, to obtain the regulation shade of bright yellow, and sage tea the next, to turn it into the Leslie-Carter tint. As to character. Lord Brighton was one of those men who firmly believe that their advent marked an epoch in the world’s history, and that they are the storm-centre about which the universe revolves. He was immodestly proud of his large wealth and comparatively new title, and belonged to that type known in France as Les nouveaux riches. Had Lord Brighton been a poor man, he would have been dubbed “ coarse ” ; as it was he was termed eccentric.” Like the majority of his compatriots, he had hobbies; not lawn tennis, golf, or the like; far from it. His pet hobby was a supreme contempt for woman, and the feminine sex in general; which contempt amounted almost to a mania. Indeed so bitter did he become in his denunciation of the fair sex at times, that it caused his friends to suspect, that at some period of his life, he had been the dupe of some especially clever woman, which suspicion was greatly strengthened by the vehemence with which he was wont to assert that no woman could ever impress him. Such, in brief, was Lord Oliver Brighton, of London, England, who now leisurely reclined in an easy chair, extracting large volumes of smoke from the business end of a perfecto, and then sending it curling up against the hand-painted plafond of the smoking-room.

A different man altogether was Bob Armstrong, a retired banker and broker. Mr. Armstrong or

Bob,” as he was familiarly known to his friends, was strictly a self-made man whose every movement bespoke culture and refinement. He was tall, well made, about thirty-five years of age and of distinguished appearance. His eyes were large and black, and formed a most engaging contrast to his silver-gray hair and mustache. His features though aquiline were distinctly of American type; they denoted great kindliness, but likewise courage, intellect and firmness of decision; indeed, these latter were the qualities that had in years past made the name Armstrong ” a factor in Wall Street. Mr. Armstrong’s life had been an eventful one. At the age of thirty he had married a lady of great beauty and intellect, to whom he was profoundly attached, but whom he lost by death after three years of unalloyed happiness. Since then. Bob had been a confirmed bachelor, spending all of his leisure time either travelling or at the club. He was now seated between his friends, absent-mindedly tearing an old envelope into small pieces, which he rolled into miniature balls and cast into the fire, while he attentively watched the eager flames lick up the fresh material. There was a sad, ruminating expression on his handsome face, as though this evening reminded him of bygone happy days at his own fireside.

The remaining member of the trio was Chauncey Lament, the son of a wealthy merchant, and a typical gilded youth, whose chief occupation in life seemed to centre in the strenuous effort he made to spend his father’s money faster than the latter could earn it; an occupation in which he appeared to succeed fairly well. But though Chauncey was a gay young man, fond of life in all its phases, a devotee of sports in general, with a decided penchant for the stage and its femininity, he was not a bad boy at heart, and was universally popular.

Chauncey was tall, rather above the ordinary height, and, apparently, admirably proportioned. He was fair-haired, with features clean cut and rather fine of finish; their habitual expression suggested a capacity for ready wit. His light mustache flourished upward, as if blown that way by the breath of a constant smile. That mustache was to him a source of great pride and much preoccupation, upon which he spent more time and care than the average mother bestows upon her first born. Taken altogether there was something benevolent and picturesque in his physiognomy. In this respect his face was singular. It was not at all serious and yet it inspired the liveliest confidence. Just now he was puffing away on a cigarette, while glancing over the programme of the evening’s performance, which he had brought from the theatre, and endeavoring to find some familiar name among the artists named thereon. Throwing away the programme he suddenly exclaimed:

Well, gentlemen, what’s your verdict of the play.f^ ”

Capital ! ” observed Bob Armstrong.

Can’t say I like it, dontcherknow ! ” ejaculated Lord Brighton, with a puff on his cigar.

“ Oh, I don’t see why,” resumed Bob, with a shrug of his shoulders. I think the play is all right, and the work of the star extremely clever. She is undoubtedly a good actress and a beautiful woman.”

You bet ! ” put in Chauncey enthusiastically.

Clever.? ” repeated Lord Brighton with a cynical smile. ’Pon my word. Bob, I can’t see, dontcherknow, how you can fancy the work and looks of that blonde person in black velvet. By Jove! it couldn’t happen in England, dontcherknow ! Her gowns were positively scandalous. I say, positively scandalous ! ”

Can’t see what objection you have to the lady’s gowns,” animatedly rejoined Bob. She dresses in accordance with the requirements of the part she portrays, which is that of an adventuress, and, certainly, not immodestly so. At any rate, no more so than do the ladies of our own set at their dinners and balls. As to the play, it is strictly a modern problem-play, hence quite realistic.”

Well, Bob, you don’t know actresses as I know them,” quickly replied Lord Brighton, determined to force his opinion upon his friend.

Cut it ! ” dryly observed Chauncey.

But — aw — I say,” obstinately continued Lord Brighton, I don’t care to see any woman upon the stage; ’pon my word I don’t! ’Tisn’t her place, you see! Women ought to stay at home, where they belong, and attend to the house and the nursery.”

Oh, Lord! when they do I want to be dead,^^ interrupted Chauncey with mock earnestness.

Yes,” broke in Bob, and spend their sweet young lives making biscuits and tea for beef -eating Englishmen like yourself! Oh, come, come, old man! Why don’t you be honest, and say that you hate all women, and look upon them as a necessary evil at best. Think what you please, Brighton, but remember that there are surely some good women upon the stage, as there are in every walk of life. Besides, there is something in this particular woman’s face and bearing that commands respect. You know I have been through the mill, and am not the kind of a man to be taken in by the face of every pretty woman I meet, even though she be an actress ; but when I gazed upon that sad face, especially during the pathetic scenes, I could have wagered my soul’s salvation that, though young and beautiful, she has passed through a world of sorrow and despair.”

“ Bravo, Bob ! shake hands, old man ! I couldn’t have said it better in a thousand years ! ” heartily exclaimed Chauncey, grasping his friend’s hands.

You’ve hit the nail on the head 1 ”

’Pon my word, boys, you have my sympathy, dontcherknow, and if I didn’t know you both as sensible fellows, I should say that you are both ^ hard hit.’ But, I say again, no woman’s face will ever deceive me. It can’t be done! They are false, one and all, and only do the angel act — when they want something. All women are bom actresses, and, if I do say so myself, the woman who can fool Lord Brighton does not live.”

Bob merely shrugged his shoulders, knowing from experience that argument was a useless expenditure of energy against this man’s monumental British obstinacy.

Can’t be fooled, eh.?^ ” repeated Chauncey, with a knowing wink at Bob. Well, may be so, old man; but I know a lady that would play ping pong with your heart inside of thirty minutes, and without an effort.”

“ Who is she.^ What is she like? ” queried Lord Brighton with lazy incredulity, yet interested despite himself.

Like nothing you ever saw ! ”

“ I am sure I am much obliged, dontcherknow.”

She is the Countess Ivanovitch, who is universally considered the most beautiful and fascinating creature that ever happened in New York City,” replied Chauncey.

18 The Victivfis Triumph

Do you know her? ” queried Bob.

“ Yes, I met her at Mrs. Gardner’s dinner, and there wasn’t a man in the crowd — myself included — who wouldn’t have left his happy home or robbed a bank for this ravishing creature.”

Scandalous, positively scandalous, ’pon my word,” soliloquized Lord Brighton. “ But I say, Chauncey, just to show you, dear boy, that she’ll never impress me, arrange an introduction, dontcherknow, and then watch me.”

Just so ! ” replied Chauncey. “ I’ll steer you up against her brother, who’s a jolly good fellow. You’ll meet him, he’ll introduce you to her, and there you are.”

Oh, she’s got a brother, has she ? ” inquired Lord Brighton.

Indeed she has,” affirmed Chauncey. And his word is law with her; so if you wish to reach the Countess it will have to be done via the brother. But I’ll attend to that part of it; besides, we are all invited to the Pennybaker ball next week and so is the Countess ; then I will see that both you and Bob are introduced.”

Bj the way, Chauncey,” here interrupted Bob, “ what did you mean a while ago by the remark that ^ I had hit the nail on the head ’ when I spoke of the actress we saw on the stage to-night? ”

I meant,” replied Chauncey, suddenly losing his gay demeanor, that you were quite right when you said you had discerned real sorrow and sadness in her face.”

How so ? ” eagerly queried Bob.

Why, because,” continued Chauncey, “ that young girl has had sorrows that would have killed an ordinary woman. I’ll tell you her story, as it was told me by one of my newspaper friends who knew her well, if you care to hear it.”

‘‘ I certainly do,” replied Bob Armstrong.”

Go ahead,” yawned Lord Brighton, bored at having to listen to the story of a woman’s life.

But, I say, let’s have some cocktails and some cigars ; ” and suiting the action to the word he summoned the waiter and gave his order.

The liquor was brought and disposed of, fresh cigars were lighted, a new supply of fuel added to the fire, and soon the trio was once more comfortably ensconced in their easy chairs, ready to listen to Chauncey’s story.

‘‘ About ten years ago,” began the latter, “ there was among the regular staff of artists at the Imperial Opera House at Berhn, a singer, who, by reason of his good looks, fine physique and phenomenal voice, was a popular favorite, especially among the ladies; for it is a strange fact that women will idolize actors — ^just because they are actors. In this case the man in question had the great advantage of being not only a great artist as well as fine looking, but likewise a man of superior intellect and good education. ’Twas no wonder, therefore, that he was the idol of all the ladies, which so affected this great singer that it required an extra size hat to fit him. One day, however, he met among the society girls, who raved about him, bought his photographs and spent their pinmoney to send him flowers, a girl of quite a different stamp. She was young, beautiful, educated and well bred. And though it seems sacrilegious to state that an actor can form, temporarily even, a real affection for any one woman, the unexpected happened in this case, for this artist was so greatly impressed with the young woman’s charms that during a moment of absent-mindedness he married her. In doing so, the young woman had — on his advice — overlooked the insignificant formality of asking parental consent. Thus her secret marriage became a pink tea when compared to the stupendous undertaking of acquainting papa and mamma with the facts. Yet, it had to be done, for though great singers live, professionally speaking, upon ‘ airs,’ their material subsistence require cold cash.

At any rate, this artist, despite his rather large salary, felt financially too small to take care of both himself and his wife, so he confidentially advised her to confess the awful truth to her parents. Like the dutiful wife she was, she obeyed, and conveyed the intelligence of her secret marriage unto her parents. At first the latter were speechless with amazement at the revelation. When they did find words to express their thoughts they were totally unfit for publication. What they did insist upon, however, was that their home was not big enough to hold both themselves and the wife of an opera singer. What did it matter that the sweet little wife of a few weeks happened to be their only daughter, and that she had married her husband because she loved him? Was it not far easier to put the daughter out of the house than to face social ostracism by telling the Privy-Supreme-Court-Counsellor So and So, or tell the wife of the Imperial Ex-Chief- Chamberlain This and That, that their only daughter had married a man of melodies? Hence, within two weeks more, the erstwhile only daughter of wealthy parents found herself a stranger to her former home. Her husband at first did his best to take care of her, and, for a time, succeeded quite well; but like most artists known to fame, he soon tired of the obligations if not of the bonds that curtailed his personal expenditures. His behavior towards his wife began to show punctures here and there, and when, shortly afterwards, he was offered a good engagement as leading tenor in this country, at nearly triple the salary he drew in Germany, he quickly packed his grip, gave his dear, confiding little wife some money, and more advice.

promised to write to her early and often, and gaily sailed away to this country. Out of sight out of mind! At home, alone, abandoned and forsaken by all, the poor little woman learned then the bitter truth that the world has no pity for the unfortunate. To add to her sorrows, she approached that critical period in a woman’s life where she fulfills the noblest duty of her destiny — motherhood. Alas! the poor little wife, whose heart — despite her husband’s perfidy — could not despise the man to whom she had given all that life holds dear to a woman, gathered together what she had left of worldly possessions, sold some trinkets, which she had vowed never to part with, and with the proceeds — barely sufficient to pay for her passage — came to New York, hoping to find her faithless husband. Upon inquiry she learned that he was en route, at the head of a company, and at that time in Pennsylvania. She likewise learned that another had, long since, supplanted her in his affections, and that the money he should have devoted to her support he spent upon this new fancy. But though her heart was breaking, and her bodily sufferings acute, her loyal soul never wavered, and she resolved to go to her husband and bring him to his senses by imparting the sweet secret to him. Towards the latter part of May, 1889, she left New York, using her remaining funds for a ticket to Johnstown, Pennsylvania, where her husband was to appear the following day. Upon reaching there she learned that his company was due late that night. Can you fancy the thoughts that filled this poor woman’s heart Can you picture her many conflicting emotions Was she not there alone — penniless in a strange country Would he be man enough to do his duty by her.^^ Or would he spurn her — and crush out the little spark of hope that still remained in her bosom

In due time her husband’s company arrived. With a heavy heart and trembling hands the poor ^mung wife dispatched a messenger to the theatre, informing him of her arrival, and asking him to come to her. An answer came, and in her misery she fervently prayed to Him who sees all that it might bring her happiness. It contained but a few laconic words, scribbled in haste, and read:

‘ Will be there after the performance.’ No signature was appended; still, it was his handwriting, and her heart leaped with joy. With feverish emotion she awaited his coming. At 11.30 she heard his heavy step in the hall of the inexpensive hotel where she was staying. Her heart bounded. The door was flung open, and — she lay upon his breast. Faithless and fickle though he was, he could not resist the poor woman’s rapturous joy — despite his perfidy — on seeing him again. Perhaps it was that ‘ silent voice,’ which at that moment spoke in thunderous tones within him ; perhaps it was the hand of fate that caused him to feel the pangs of remorse for his ill-treatment of her. Who knows And she — the poor little woman — never once reproached him with his misconduct, or complained of the many hardships she had endured. She knew but one thing — she loved him, and he was with her — as she blushingly whispered her secret into his ear. Her sublime faith, after months of misery and neglect at his hands, and the fact that she had come thousands of miles to be with him during the ordeal she was about to face, touched even his cold

26 The VictMs Triumph

heart, now filled with the image of another. He gently kissed her upturned face, smoothed her feverish brow and spoke words of encouragement. But the worry and excitement of the last few days, together with the privations she had suffered and the suspense of the evening’s vigil for his coming, had been too much for her delicate health. She was taken violently ill, and a doctor was summoned. For several days after the babe was born the poor woman lay unconscious and at the point of death. When she finally recovered consciousness on the fourth day her mind had temporarily given way under the strain. During all that week her husband had to appear nightly with smiling face, while she struggled between life and death among strangers. To add to his troubles. Dame Rumor, in some mysterious way, had spread the story of his infidelity and his wife’s arrival. The tale gained in virulence as it was passed on. Like the tiny snowball that grows in volume as it rolls down the hill, and finally reaches the valley an avalanche dealing death and destruction, so the story of this man’s infamy spread and increased, causing great public indignation, until he, the erstwhile matinee idol of silly women, found himself hissed at every appearance and openly insulted. But though his misdeeds nearly shipwrecked him professionally, the incident served one good purpose. It brought him to his senses, and he vowed to henceforth be a better man. Was it fear, was it pity, or was it, perhaps, the little white bundle of humanity quietly sleeping in the small crib in the dingy room of the hotel It was never known. For who can fathom the ways of inscrutable fate ? Fate, which as surely as there is a sun in heaven, sooner or later metes out just punishment to all transgressors alike. His repentance, however, came too late, for in the terrible disaster which, on the morning of May 31, 1889, almost swept the city of Johnstown off the face of the earth, the artist, who at the time was rehearsing at the theatre, was one of the victims; whereas both mother and child in some miraculous way escaped destruction. Happily for the poor woman, her mind at that time was benighted, else the shock of this new misfortune would have killed her. Several days la.ter, when the waters began

28 The Victwis Triumph

to subside, her husband’s terribly mangled body was found. Kind souls took pity on the unfortunate mother and babe and transferred them to more congenial surroundings, where, after many months of suffering, she finally recovered health and reason. When the tragic fate of her husband was told her it proved a terrible blow. Had it not been for the blue-eyed little cherub — whose babylips began to lisp the word ^ mamma,’ that sound which falls like heavenly music on a woman’s ear — who knows but she, too, would have sought oblivion for her sorrows in death. With nothing left in the world to claim as her own, save her girl babe, she bestowed upon it all the affections of her sympathetic heart, and as time wore on she had the indescribable pleasure of seeing the little one growing up into a beautiful girl. Then came a new sorrow. The little money kind friends had saved for her from the sale of her husband’s jewelry, together with some life insurance she had received, was about exhausted, and she was confronted by the problem of how to subsist. She had no training in the ways and means of earning a livelihood ;

The Victirri's Triumph 29

her only hope lay in the fine education she had received, so she daily scanned the papers in quest of a position as governess. But no one wanted a woman with a child, no matter what her qualifications. True, some positions were offered her by so-called bachelors, but in nearly every instance she found that these ‘ ads.’ were misleading, and their motives doubtful. One day she noticed an advertisement requiring a handsome young woman to pose for a well-known artist. In her desperation she confided her little girl to the care of a neighbor and applied for the position. She was young and beautiful; and her face had that soft, melancholy expression which misery and heartache seldom fail to impart to a woman’s countenance. It was just what the artist wanted, and, to her delight, she was engaged at a fair salary. He was a good man, who found inspiration in the face of this well-bred, handsome model, so vastly different from her average colleague. With true maternal pride she told him one day of her sweet babe-girl. He asked her to bring the child to the studio and let him see her. She did so. The sight of mother and child.

both pathetically beautiful in their loneliness, instantly caught the artist’s eye and inspired him as a fine subject for a great painting. He asked her to pose with her child, and she consented. For two months he worked, and finally produced the famous painting entitled ^ Alone in the World.’ It represented a mother and child dressed in tatters, standing in a deserted doorway, while the snow is coming down in heavy flakes. The canvas proved a success; it was exhibited here and abroad, where it finally sold for a large sum. It made the artist famous, and in the generosity of his heart he persuaded his model to accept a financial present as a mark of his esteem and appreciation. A theatrical manager who had greatly admired the painting, prevailed upon the artist to reveal the identity of the model; this the artist finally did. The manager at once made her an offer to play an emotional part in a great realistic drama, at a large salary. She gladly accepted. Though new to the stage and by no means an actress, her great beauty, her magnetic presence and, above all, the genuine pathos in her sweet face, made an instantaneous success.

To-day she is famous, as we all know, and her little girl bids fair to follow in her mother’s footsteps.”

At that moment a loud snort interrupted Chauncey’s story, and turning around he and Bob beheld Lord Brighton sound asleep ; for, true to his aversion for women and everything concerning them, Chauncey’s tale, together with the heat of the room, had made him sleepy. Seizing a seltzer-water bottle. Bob gently sprayed the sleeping lord’s face for a moment. With a start the latter awoke. By Jove, gentlemen, you must excuse me, dontcherknow ! My eyes were paining me a bit, so I closed them for repairs; but I heard every word you said, Chauncey, and I heartily coincide with both of you in your opinion regarding the coal strike. The conduct of these mine owners is positively scandalous — positively scandalous.”

A loud laugh from both Chauncey and Bob interrupted him.

Oh, yes, you heard every word I said ! Of course you did,” added Chauncey with a wink at Bob. Oh, how your eyes must have pained you ! By the way, my lord, what was that explosion we heard a while ago ? Sounded like a trumpet. Ah, come, come, my lord, you’ve had a charming little nap.”

Yes,” added Bob, and I think we’ll all follow suit by retiring at once, unless we want to eat breakfast here. So let’s be off.”

Lord Brighton, still half asleep, and looking somewhat sheepish at having been caught red-handed, nodded assent, and the three men — after promising to meet the following week at the Pennybaker ball — sought their respective hotels and retired.